


Sansa's Revenge

by outspokensloucher



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Game of Thrones spoilers, Post-Canon, Post-Wedding, Sansa kicks some ass, Sansa-centric, Spoilers, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:31:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4004197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outspokensloucher/pseuds/outspokensloucher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is trapped in hell. A place that was once her home is now a cage, locked up by a mad-man who attacks her every night. A man who she is bound to for life, how ever long that would last. Her only salvation has been butchered and she is betrayed at every turn. She can't run, she can't hide, so she will make her way out the only way she can think of, losing everything she has to gain herself back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sansa's Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the most current episode, season 5, episode 7, "The Gift," so naturally it contains spoilers up to that point.  
> This will be Sansa-centric and it won't leave Winterfell, unfortunately (I can't handle that many storylines :))  
> This is also my first stab at writing fanfic so bear with me and please, please leave comments about your thoughts and things that could make it better! Thanks friends!!

Sansa sat in her room, the room from her childhood, the room that had once provided safety, warmth and happy memories and stared out the open window. Fat, heavy snowflakes fell on her lap, on her face and hands, melting into small pools. She stared at them be-musingly. How nice it must be to just melt away. To fly through the sky and simply yield to the first obstacle that confronts you, just to melt away, never to be seen or thought of again. She wished she could just drift away, melt away who she was, become a puddle at the first sight of conflict.

She looked down at the knife that she had plucked off the snowy barrel after he walk with her husband. She had had no clue of a plan when she had taken it, only that Ramsay would die, but after seeing the poor, kid old woman strung up and flayed like an animal she didn't know what to do anymore. This man... This monster was far stronger than she. If she tried to kill him it would never work, he was an animal, he would be able to smell her fear, smell determination and he would crush her. Who knew what that would lead to. Sansa thought back to that vile girl, Miranda, and how she had said that Ramsay would hunt those who made him bored. Surely a fate worse than that would await her if she tried to kill him. Yes, she had some protection, being who she was, from him, but she knew that Roose wouldn't stand in the way too much if Ramsay were to dole out a punishment to his disobedient wife. 

Every night he came to her room and attacked her. The niceties, the kisses on the cheek were shed when he came into her bedroom. He would come into the room with his wicked stare and his disgusting smirk. Sansa would curl into a ball on the bed as he came closer, hugging her knees into her chest defensively, holding back hot tears. 

"Hello, wife," he would say, his words dripping with false sweetness as he reached out to her. She recoiled from his grasp as if he were poison, but he would get his way, he always did. His hands were stronger and he would pull her apart and hold her down. 

At first he tried to be more civil, asking her to undress herself, maybe even hoping that one day she would come to enjoy his nightly visits, but when he realized that it was apparent that this fantasy would not be indulged anytime soon, he began to use force. He would rip off her clothes and grasp her violently, smelling her and grabbing her breasts. He would satisfy himself, feeling her body as she held back muffled sobs. Soon his version of romance would be over and he would bend her over and take her as she cried. When he was finished he would grab her face in one hand, brining it close to his and whisper "goodnight, wife" as he left the room, leaving her to cry herself to sleep, if she could even find sleep. Some nights she would lie away, not even crying, just petrified with fear that he would return, not completely satisfied with his earlier visit. 

She lived in constant fear, but she was not fully alone until today. The old maid was dead. Theon had been lost, the obedient dog to his master. She was truly alone in this world.

Her eyes travelled back to the knife. It would be so easy to end the suffering. So easy for her to die. She could then rejoin her family; see her mother, father and brothers. She shed a silent tear but quickly wiped it away. Too many tears had been shed for them and she would not sit idly any longer. 

The knife looked so inviting. A quick pierce into her heart and it would all end. She would never be tortured by Ramsay again. She would never see the head of her father on a spike or see the horrible things that she had seen again. She ran her finger along the edge, carefully at first, but then with more intention. The soft, pink pad of her finger yielded and a bubble of crimson blood rushed forth. It ballooned and a single drip fell onto the table. Sansa put her finger into her mouth and tasted the salt and rust of her blood. It would be so easy. It would be unbearably painful, but would it really be as bad as all the things she had encountered? It would hurt but it would end and so would everything else. 

In the cold blade she saw her reflection. Her red hair had come out of hiding from behind the black mask, but she almost regretted that; the black would be fitting for the mood of the world she now inhabited. Her sadness reflected in every mirror, every spoon, every piece of glass, as inescapable as her situation. The small fire inside her stirred, maybe the red was better. Better to be herself at home. It reminded her of her mother, of simpler times. The desperation to see her mother again shook her to the core and she released a muffled but aching sob. Her mother would never stand for this. She would look at her with her stern eyes and tell her that she could not give up. She would not resign herself to death, she would fight. Sansa had not survived Joffrey and the destruction of her family to kill her self when she had finally made it back home. 

No. She had decided she was not a snowflake. She would not melt under the pressure of Ramsay. That softness had been hardened out of her long ago. She was was stronger than that now. She was ice, glacial ice, she decided. She would carve her path and eliminate those who tried to cut her down. She would be a force to be reckoned with. She would not let them break her, she would do whatever it takes to make them pay for what they did to her. She would destroy them.


End file.
